


Guardian

by Lulzy (likelolwhat)



Series: For the Love of a Meme [18]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Skyrim Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likelolwhat/pseuds/Lulzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night in the Rift, Hadvar finds his overworked Legate trying to fight the inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> De-anoning from the skyrimkinkmeme, [this prompt](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4941.html?thread=11169869#t11169869).

Night fell over the Rift as it always did: gently as the breeze in the orange leaves above. The night would be clear, perhaps giving a glimpse of the aurora. It was never as brilliant as further north — even Riverwood got better shows in the shadow of the Throat of the World — but the added light would be a boon when only a sliver of one moon was visible. Occasionally a wolf's howl echoed through the valley, soon to be answered by its fellows, and the haunted sounds made the soldiers on watch shift nervously as Hadvar wound his way around the camp towards the Legate's tent.

He grabbed a lantern from the table and lit it with a spark from his fingers. He usually didn't like using magic, some Nordic instinct or cultural teaching making him shy away from his own ability. The most he could conjure was the tiny flame anyway. He doubted he was in danger of becoming an actual mage. Just to light a lantern was fine.

"Legate?" he said lowly, pushing aside the half-closed tent flap.

Fasendil was sitting at the map table, head cradled in one hand as the other dragged a quill across parchment. The only light in the tent was from a single candle on the nightstand behind the Legate, and it was nearly burnt out. He glanced up tiredly as Hadvar came in, immediately throwing his hand across his eyes. "For the love of Mara, put that damn light out," he growl-moaned.

Hadvar obeyed, snuffing out the lantern as quickly as it had been lit.

In the ensuing gloom Fasendil's sharp-boned face looked even worse. The bags under his eyes were almost like growths. He was still cradling his head, and there was a growing ink blot under the tip of the quill as his other hand stilled. Hadvar couldn't read what he had been trying to write, but the normally elegant penmanship was jagged, sloppy.

"General's on my ass again about that dragon attack," Fasendil muttered, dropping the quill — it rolled away onto the floor — and rubbing at his temples.

"There was nothing we could do," Hadvar said, setting the dormant lantern on the table and coming around to rub Fasendil's shoulders gently.

"Nine. Nine!" the Altmer said, probably louder than he had intended because he recoiled from his own voice. "We're stretched so thin..." he groaned again as Hadvar found the largest knot and began firmly pressing it away.

Hadvar kept his voice pitched low, soothing. "The Dragonborn should be arriving tomorrow, and she's worth twenty men in a fight. It'll be fine."

"If you say so," Fasendil muttered snidely. "Now let me work, dammit. I'm _fine_."

"Oh no, you are going to bed."

"Are you ordering me around, Praefect?"

Hadvar knew better than to relent, even if his lover was trying to pull rank. "Not going to work this time, _Fasendil_. You can report me for insubordination after you get a good night's rest. If you remember anything tomorrow. Up you get."

Fasendil pushed himself up, swaying on his feet and closing his eyes tightly. He let Hadvar lead him to bed and tuck him in like a child, uniform and all. Minus the heavy boots, which Hadvar pulled off and left next to the cot. Snuffing out the candle, he pecked the Altmer's undoubtedly aching forehead and left again, taking the lantern with him.

Outside the crisp night air was refreshing, and an owl was hooting in harmony with the wolf howls. The northern lights danced above, brilliant as he had ever seen in the Rift; waves of green and yellow watched over the Imperial camp.


End file.
